


“Do you want to talk about it?”

by LulaIsAKitten



Series: First Kisses [18]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 23:03:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15011333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/pseuds/LulaIsAKitten
Summary: Continuing the series of shorts of possible first kisses between these two. Got a few ideas. Feel free to submit prompts for anything you’d like to see in the comments below or over on Tumblr at lulacat3.





	“Do you want to talk about it?”

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kelvindalegirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kelvindalegirl/gifts).



> A gift for Kelvindalegirl. Thank you for the prompt!
> 
> “Robin’s dog Rowntree has died. She is upset........”

“Come on through,” Strike said to Mr Suspicious, aka Redhead’s husband, handing him a mug of coffee. He stole a glance at Robin’s empty chair as they went through to the inner office. She was late. Robin was never late. He pulled his mobile from his pocket to glance at it surreptitiously as he followed his client through the doorway. Still no message. He frowned, worry beginning to prickle.

As they settled either side of his desk, he heard her clatter up the stairs and breathed a small sigh of relief. He heard rather than saw her come in, but he sensed something was wrong. She wrestled with her coat, dropped her bag, didn’t call out her usual friendly greeting.

“Would you excuse me a moment?” he asked Mr Suspicious. “I need some notes from my colleague’s desk.” He stood and moved though to the outer office. He could see at once that something wasn’t right. Spots of colour stood on her cheeks and her eyes were red-rimmed. She looked as though she’d been crying. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

“Fine,” she said, too briskly. Strike hesitated. She clearly wasn’t, but his client was sat a few feet behind him, probably listening. He nodded, picked up the pad of notes he’d left on her desk and went back through to his office.

By the time he’d finished going over the latest lack of evidence of Redhead having an affair, and agreed to tail her for another two weeks, Robin was in a client meeting of her own. He showed Mr Suspicious out, casting a covert glance at Robin, who was pale but composed, listening to her client and taking notes. He lurked in his office for a while, but he was late for his next assignment already and eventually, reluctantly, had to leave.

Mid morning, Robin finally had a moment to herself, and snatched her mobile from her bag to look at it. Nothing. Her mother had rung in tears this morning as Robin made her way down Denmark Street to the office.

“It’s Rowntree,” Linda had said. “He’s taken a turn for the worse during the night. I don’t think he can get up now. The vet’s coming out later to see him, but they said last time we took him in that it’s just old age. There’s nothing they can do. I think it might be time, love.”

Robin had stood on the street for several minutes after she had finished uttering the right consoling noises and hung up. It’s just a dog, she told herself. But tears spilled out of her eyes anyway. It took her some time and a huge effort to get herself back under control enough to approach the office.

She put the mobile on the desk next to her, and tried to do some work, but she couldn’t concentrate. A text pinged through. “Vet here now. Mum xx”

Strike, frustrated, drummed his fingers on the Formica table of the grubby cafe. He didn’t want to be here, staring at the door of the house down the street and waiting to see if their latest client’s nanny really was going out with her boyfriend every day, dragging the baby to cinemas and parks rather than to music time and baby gym. He wanted to be back in the office, talking to Robin about whatever was bothering her. He was sure she’d been crying.

The boyfriend appeared, and the girl came out of the house with the pushchair. They set off up the road. Strike tossed some coins down on the table for his coffee and strolled after them, smoking as he went, his mind on Robin rather than the task in hand.

He managed to snap some pictures of the couple snogging under a tree in the park, the pushchair ignored next to them, and abruptly decided that was enough evidence gathering for one day. It didn’t seem like this was going to be difficult to prove. He went back to the office, wincing at the pain in his knee, realising he was walking faster than he needed to.

Strike entered the office just as Robin was ending a call on her mobile. She looked a little shaky. “You okay?” he asked for the second time that day.

“Fine,” she said again, but she choked on the word, and tears spilled out of her eyes. She dashed them away angrily, but more kept coming. Pull yourself together, she thought fiercely. This is so unprofessional. She buried her face in her hands.

“Hey...” Strike said gently, moving around her desk to rest a large, cautious hand on her shoulder. Robin dissolved at his touch, crying properly now.

Strike passed her the box of tissues and she took a handful. “Come and sit on the sofa,” he said, kindly. “Cup of tea?” She nodded, shoulders still heaving, trying to get control of herself.

Strike made tea while Robin moved to the sofa and mopped herself up a little. He carried her mug across and she scooted along to make room for him. He hadn’t actually intended to sit next to her, and he hesitated, but he didn’t want to cause offence and she was clearly in need of some human comfort. He put the tea on the floor by her feet and sat, trying to leave as much room as possible between them, which wasn’t much on the small sofa.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

“It’s Rowntree,” she said. Strike raised a questioning eyebrow. “My parents’ dog,” she explained. “Chocolate lab. That was Mum on the phone, the vet says it’s time to put him to sleep, he can’t walk any more. He’s really, really old, and they’ve done everything they can do.” She drew a shaky breath. “I know it’s just a dog, and he’s had a good, long life, but...”

“They’re members of the family,” Strike said, and she gave a tremulous smile, glad he understood.

“When... After I left uni,” she said, slowly, “I couldn’t bear to be around people. He was only young then, but he sat with me for hours, just next to me on my bed with his head on my knee. It was like he knew.” More tears started to flow. “He was so gentle,” she said. “The first time I managed to leave the house again was to walk him. Poor Rowntree.”

“Do you need to go up?” Strike asked, wondering if they could get her on a train that afternoon, but she shook her head. “The vet’s there now, they’re going to do it now,” she said. “There wasn’t time to assemble me and all my brothers. Martin’s there.”

Strike nodded. “Anything I can do?” he asked. “Why don’t you take the afternoon off?”

She shook her head again. “I think I’d rather work than go and sit in an empty flat by myself,” she said. “I’d rather be with...” You, she nearly said. She caught herself in time. “..people.”

He patted her knee in what he hoped was a comforting rather than patronising gesture, and she smiled and laid her hand on his, holding it there. He was acutely aware of her slim leg beneath his large hand, a hand so large that his little finger was dangerously close to her inner thigh. He swallowed and tried not to think about what her skin would feel like under her work trousers.

There was a pause. Robin slowly looked up at him, still holding his hand on her leg. The atmosphere had changed, suddenly crackling with tension. Her eyes met his and he couldn’t look away. Don’t kiss her, he told himself. She’s vulnerable, you’d be taking advantage. Do _not_ kiss her.

She leaned in slowly, her eyes still on his, closer, closer. Strike couldn’t drag his eyes from hers, could only just stop himself from leaning in too. How long had he wanted this to happen? But not like this, not because she was upset.

“Robin...” he said. He had been intending to sound brisk, businesslike, but instead his voice was hoarse and shaky. Before he could say any more, her lips were on his. Electricity jolted through him. Her lips moved against his, gentle and soft. He mustn’t kiss her back. His free hand came up to her shoulder, applying gentle pressure to break the kiss.

“Robin, you’re upset,” he began.

“I wanted to kiss you before I was upset,” she said softly, and her mouth was on his again, insistent this time. She pressed forward, her hand coming up to his cheek. Strike was fighting a losing battle with the desire to kiss her in return. Then her hand was on his face and her tongue touched his lips and his control fell apart. He kissed her back, the hand on her shoulder sliding into her hair to pull her closer, his tongue answering hers.

She gave a little moan against his mouth and pressed closer still, her hand going from his cheek to curl around the back of his head. For a few seconds there was silence in the little office, and then Robin’s mobile pinged and she broke off.

“That’ll be Mum.” She rose to fetch the phone from her desk, read the message there, nodded sadly. “It’s done,” she said softly.

Strike extended an arm, and she came back to the sofa, plonking herself next to him and curling into him. She laid her head on his chest and he wrapped his arms around her, because he could now. She might change her mind about all of this when she was less upset. But for now he could just hold her and breathe her.

 

 

 

 


End file.
